An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (16 page)

How impossible it was to put it into words. She only knew that her whole being was beset with conflicting emotions – pride, admiration mingled with fear, and some other feeling to which she could not put a name.

She thought of all she had endured during the night when she was afraid that he would never return, and knew that what she must suffer now would be infinitely worse. Her prayers had been answered once, but could she be sure they would be heard a second time?

“Stay here!” If only she dared suggest such a thing – and then courage returned to her. Rodney would succeed – she was sure of it – and she must inspire him, not try to make of him a coward or a weakling.

“He will be successful,” she said the words aloud to herself and then wiped the tears roughly from her eyes.

It was, however, an hour before dark before Lizbeth really understood exactly what was occurring. A little before that Rodney had asked Barlow to discover who among the men could swim. Barlow had looked surprised.

“Swim, sir?”

The majority of seamen thought it was unlucky to learn to swim. If their ship was sunk, the sooner one went to the bottom the better. Swimming about only prolonged the agony. Rodney knew this and understood Barlow’s surprise at the question.

“I want a boat’s crew who can swim and swim well,” he said, “and don’t pick me anyone who will flounder about and expect to be rescued – do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Barlow came back with the information that there were twelve men aboard who could swim. A boat had only eight oars and he had, therefore, chosen the eight men he thought best suited to the work ahead.

“Eight will do, Master Barlow,” Rodney said. “I shall go with the boat. You will be in charge of the
Sea Hawk.

“Can I not come with you, sir?” Barlow asked eagerly.

Rodney shook his head.

“No. You will be in charge here and if we fail, your orders are to proceed to sea immediately. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fetch Master Gadstone to me.”

Gadstone was fetched. As he came into the cabin, he was almost dancing with excitement. He had been waiting for something like this ever since he left England.

“Now listen to me, Master Gadstone,” Rodney said. “What I am going to give you to do is an extremely difficult task because it demands waiting, patience, initiative, and being able to run away.”

“Run away, sir?”

“Yes, run away,” Rodney said grimly. “Now listen to me attentively.”

He spoke sharply, and purposely with a cold authority. He wanted to calm down Gadstone’s excitement and exuberance to something more sensible. It was by no means an easy task. However, he looked calmer, Rodney thought, as he saw a little band of men set off up the cliffs – Gadstone and six others, all young and long legged and, as he said to Barlow, “capable of running like the Devil’.

“Wait for them until the last moment, Master Barlow,” Rodney instructed, “but you are not to jeopardise the safety of this ship for them or for anyone else.”

“Very good, sir.

Barlow spoke in a tone of resignation. He knew Rodney’s plan was sound, even brilliant in conception, and yet he hated the part he had to play in it. He had calmly to wait aboard the
Sea Hawk
and perhaps put out to sea with the knowledge that both his Captain and Lieutenant were dead or taken prisoner.

“I shall leave in five minutes,” Rodney said.

He went into the aft cabin to make a last entry in his log-book and found Lizbeth standing by the port-hole. She turned as he entered and because he was not expecting to see her, she saw his face for a moment off guard. He was smiling excitedly as a schoolboy. He might manage to speak coldly and authoritatively to those he commanded, but just for this moment he was himself-a man in search of adventure and high adventure at that, a gambler who was staking everything on a throw of the dice.

“If only I could come with you!” Lizbeth breathed the words rather than spoke them and yet Rodney heard.

It was then it seemed that he remembered who she was and what would be her position if he were killed and the ship captured. Suddenly grave, he walked across the cabin to where she stood.

“It is not my fault that you are here,” he said, “and yet I am responsible for you. If anything happens to me, Barlow is in charge of the
Sea Hawk
and has my instructions to take her back to England. If he should fail, then I beg of you – do not let yourself be taken prisoner by the Spaniards.”

“What do you mean?” Lizbeth asked.

“There are cleaner ways of dying than rotting in a dungeon in Seville, Rodney said, “and if they should discover you to be a woman, it – it will not help you.”

There was no need for him to say more. They both knew the fate that would await her.

“There are several poisons, I think, in the doctor’s cabinet,” Lizbeth said in a low voice.

“Let us pray they will not be used,” Rodney answered.

Lizbeth threw back her head.

“I am not afraid to die. That is why I would like to come with you.”

“I did not know that women had such courage,” Rodney said.

She smiled at that.

“I believe you know very little about women, after all.

“Or perhaps merely very little about you,” Rodney replied.

She looked up at him at that and for a moment their eyes held each other. Then he started as if he had forgotten the time. Instinctively she put out her hands towards him.

“Take care of yourself, Rodney,” she pleaded.

He hesitated for a moment as if he would say something in reply and then he put his hand on her shoulder, an easy, affectionate gesture of good fellowship that he might have made towards Francis.

“I shall be safe enough,” he smiled.

He was gone then. A moment later Lizbeth heard him give a series of commands. Slowly she went to the door and out on to the deck. The men were already in the boat and Rodney was going over the side to join them. They had all of them stripped their shirts from their bodies, Rodney included. Their feet were bare, each wore a sword belt and cutlass and a sharp knife which he would carry in his teeth when he swam.

There was an hour yet before darkness and they had to get round the more dangerous part of the cost before they could lie in wait. Rodney had not anticipated that it would be as nerve-racking as it was, moving out to sea and then along beneath the cliff, keeping a look-out all the time for watchers from above or for a ship at sea.

The way itself was tricky, for in several places there was a deep undercurrent. There were also half-submerged coral reefs which might easily tear a hole in the boat.

But at length they came to the place which the Indian had indicated as being the best place of concealment until darkness fell.

It would not be long now, Rodney thought, and welcomed a star as it appeared above them, shimmering through the velvet sky. Still they must wait, while Rodney’s thoughts were with Gadstone who, by this time, should be nearing his place of concealment above the village. An Indian would meet them there.

Gadstone and his men were to hide, watching everything that was taking place, and to do nothing if all went well until they heard three blasts on a whistle from the
Santa Perpetua.
That was the signal and when Rodney gave it they were to leave at once, running as quickly as their legs could carry them back to the
Sea Hawk
to get on board before she sailed to join the captured ship.

But if things went wrong, then Gadstone’s little band was to cause a diversion. They had several fire tombs with them and each man carried a javelin tipped with tar; and although they could do little against a large number of Spaniards, they might at least-cause some confusion and divert attention, if it was necessary, from the ship lying in the harbour.

That was Rodney’s plan for Gadstone, and Barlow had his orders. Now there was only his own part to be executed. In a whisper he gave the order for the boat to proceed. Dipping the oars with the utmost caution, they crept round the coast and suddenly the harbour opened up before them and they saw that the party ashore was, as the Indian Chief promised, in full progress.

Four great bonfires were burning, as well as the other fires on which the bullocks and pigs were being cooked. The light was enough to reveal the merry-makers sprawling around on the soft sand, their arms encircling the flower-bedecked Indian maidens, while they ate and drank the food and wine that was being plied upon them by the older members of the village. Behind the native huts was a compound guarded by sentries in which the galley slaves were imprisoned.

In the bay lay the
Santa Perpetua
, her high masts visible against the sky. It was difficult to see anything very clearly and yet Rodney was sure she lay in deep water and he reckoned that it would take at least three or four minutes for a boat to reach her from the shore.

A burble of voices and laughter came from the party on the beach. It was quite a considerable noise, but even so Rodney hardly breathed the order which told his men to beach the boat. A few minutes later they were swimming, each man with a knife in his teeth, his cutlass bumping uncomfortably against his legs as he struck out into the darkness towards the ship. The sea was as warm as milk and Rodney, who was a good swimmer, easily passed the other men and reached the ship first. He caught hold of a rope hanging over the side and waited until the others joined him and then, slowly and as silently as they could, they began to climb.

Very slowly they raised their heads over the thick bulwarks, mercifully it was not netted, and, as Rodney had expected, the sentries left on board the ship were all standing by the taff’rail looking longingly at the festivities ashore. There was a moment of deadly peril when the Englishmen, dripping wet, must move across the whole length of the deck to strike down the men before they turned and saw them.

But even as they started creeping forward the natives ashore started to sing and dance, the noise they made deafening all other sounds.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. The six sentries each received a knife in the back and before they could shout a heavy hand was clamped over their mouths to receive their dying breath.

“Look below,” Rodney whispered.

The men came back a few minutes later shaking their heads.

“No one else aboard, sir.”

“Very good.”

Each man had been allotted his job before they left the
Sea Hawk.
They hurried now to the halliards and braces of the foresail. There had been no wind all day, but now an evening breeze was blowing off the land and the ship was rocking in her moorings as if she herself were ready to start. Rodney held his breath. Someone ashore might notice what was going on. But the Indians were dancing round one of the bonfires, their naked bodies, gyrating and pulsating, making it hard to see anything.

“Ready to weigh anchor, sir, and she has one of them new capstans.”

It was a Petty Officer who spoke breathlessly, and Rodney, glancing round him, knew that this was the supreme moment of danger when they must weigh anchor. Every seaman knew what a noise the anchor made being wound aboard.

The merry-making was still loud and rampageous ashore-indeed it was increasing in volume as Rodney had planned with the Indian Chief, and yet – who knew? One of the officers might have sharp eyes, one of them might not be as drunk as the majority sounded.

Slowly they began their task, their bare feet seeking a hold on the smooth deck as they bent all their weight to the capstan bars. The cable came steadily in, but the measured clank, clank of the capstan seemed to shout the news of what they were doing abroad.

Clank, clank!

Surely someone must hear it! Rodney thought in despair, sweating as he expended every ounce of his strength and muscle.

The cable was heavy as might be expected in such a big ship, but it was coming up smoothly. Clank, clank! And now at last the anchor was rising!

It was only then that Rodney dared to glance towards the shore. The natives were whirling round with the abandonment of Dervishes. Those who were not dancing were stamping their feet and clapping, the drums were beating and they all seemed to be straining their vocal powers in some fiendish ditty. The Indians were cooperating well!

“Man the mainsail yards,” Rodney commanded. He went to the tiller himself and brought the
Santa Perpetua
head round into the wind.

A sudden puff seemed to come at just the right moment, the sails flapped, bellied and flapped again. Rodney was conscious of the rapid beating of his heart as he watched the huge expanse of canvas. The sails were filling, the ship was moving. He could hardly believe it was true.

She heeled to the wind with a creaking and a groaning of her cordage; then Rodney heard the chuckle of the waves against her bows. The wind was increasing, veering round to Nor’-East, as he and Barlow had anticipated earlier in the evening and the
Santa Perpetua
began to gather way.

It was then that Rodney drew his whistle from his pocket and gave three loud blasts upon it. He waited another moment and blew another three, in case Gadstone could not hear him above the frenzied row on the beach. And yet he was sure the little band must have seen the
Santa Perpetua
moving.

On shore there came a sudden shout, a different sound from all the rest. Someone was pointing towards the ship; another and yet another finger came out in their direction, and men were running down to the water’s edge, shouting and gesticulating. At that moment there was a flash and an explosion behind them. Rodney grinned to himself. Despite all his instructions to the contrary, he had guessed that young Gadstone would not be able to forbear letting off his fire bombs.

It was quite unnecessary and strictly against his orders, but he knew that those long hours of waiting in the darkness must have been very trying to Master Gadstone’s exuberance; but he and his men would be legging it back to the
Sea Hawk.
They would be in time to catch her before she sailed.